Warum Ich Bin v3.0

my hand     hangs         beside your little hand     our heads up                    side                    down in the wind our laughter                     accelerates into the sky [...]

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Here was a bright blue today     alight breeze-cross the county hills.  kin senjoyable&mundane Stress     less (less (less (less))) bliss-fully          truncated.  King Forword twine and relaxation (and that for a while…) [...]

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I admire <small territory>     here in the universe of words.  never "where should I claim? the question, rather, ‘artist’ flag tonight?"  whitherthe union?      sfeeds of wonks, muckrakers brandish firmer grasps I.  A poemphoto treatise fire [...]

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Sometimes it’s fun to dig out the old notebooks and try to recapture my emotional state at a certain point in time.  This piece, for instance, was written at a little sidewalk café.  I do not remember what initially inspired me to write, or what exactly I intended it to mean, but I can read [...]

Posted under Littéraire. Tags: Creativity, France, Paris, Poetry, travel. Comments: 1

I have been rolled into this dim corner, and from this vantage point, can survey my haphazardly scattered, neglected friends – relics from yesteryears strewn, broken and forgotten.
 
Sometimes the sunlight filters through [...]

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Natalie Goldberg is an advocate of writing for the sake of writing.   One of the exercises she proposes in her unparalleled Writing Down The Bones is that of sitting down and making yourself write — and once you start, not letting the pen stop until you are finished (usually these are timed sessions).  [...]

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Onwards

Strangers’ eyes lock and apologize to each other
wordlessly, beneath the “hi.”  Jackets swoosh on,
hurrying the struggling grass.

Kindness is a reflection in a plastic glass
floating inside muddy eddies under bridges – fog shrouded,
submerging, submitting, malnourished.

A pinky finger is tracing mindless highways out
in the pepper-strewn styrofoam salt flats:
a purple sparkle bulldozer.

Out on the sidewalk, one of the [...]

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Okay, I’ll admit it.  I’m phoning this one in tonight.  It’s late.  I’m tired.  This poem is from early 2005, I think.
Destinations
 

There is nothing more to write; to say.
I’ve watched the streetlamps recede toward darkened highways;
listening to the drumming rattle of sidewalk artists
beating out tribal war chants that have become
meaningless trivia set to awkward music,
their [...]

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I think that I shall never see a billboard lovely as a tree.  Perhaps, unless the billboards fall, I’ll never see a tree at all. 
                        ~Ogden Nash

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